


25 Years

by kachek47



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Trans Male Character, brief suicide mention, general trans experiences, possibly triggering but stuff turns out okay don't worry, trans Komatsu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kachek47/pseuds/kachek47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quick drabble of what went on in Komatsu's life before he met Toriko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	25 Years

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making trans Komatsu a thing. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna post this before I get self conscious about my writing because gosh darnit this fandom needs more fic, even if it's quick drabbles!
> 
> (Please no transphobic comments as I'm trans myself!)

When she was five, Komatsu decided she was going to be a chef.

It was the impulsive kind of career decision a child would make, kindergarteners professing their want to be a vet or a firefighter, only to change their minds when something else caught their attention. Komatsu was fascinated by food, cookbooks were picture books to her, recipes early reading practice. But as her classmates changed their minds as they grew, Komatsu remained steadfast.

Her first cooking class was at age 15. She had just entered high school, nervous and surrounded by kids so much older than she felt. The first few days were the hardest, but the common kitchen sense she learned helping her parents out and her rapt attention to studying meant her report card came back as an A+.

They were 16 when they discovered they weren’t a girl. The year was spent in limbo, shameful questioning internet searches became fervent as more and more information presented itself to them, and they discovered they weren’t nearly as alone as they suspected. By the end of the year they had hesitantly applied the title of boy to themself, wondering if it would stick.

Komatsu was 17 when he realized it had stuck. 17 was when he cut his hair short and burnt the hairs off his arm in a kitchen fire he might have avoided had he not been so distracted.

18 was when the stress of keeping himself a secret finally broke him down. His grades, normally quite good, began slipping, he spent a lot of time in the shower staring at the wall. Nothing scared him quite like when he looked at the kitchen knife in his hand and the idea of doing something terrible to himself came to mind. It wasn’t until a tearful confession to his parents that he could finally breathe again.

At 19 Komatsu went to college, and went through a second puberty. He was shy around his roommates until he learned they were in the culinary program as well. Sharing early recipes in a crowded kitchen, laughing and sweating in his first binder, Komatsu rediscovered what it was that drove him to cook.

20 was when Komatsu got his first job. A waiter wasn’t where he wanted to be in a restaurant, but he reasoned he didn’t have nearly enough experience to be a chef. The first time he stepped into a kitchen supply store he felt woefully underqualified, and left with a knife he was sure was too nice for him to deserve.

Komatsu was 21 when one of the prep chefs quit. He had stared at the job opportunity posted in the breakroom like some kind of sign, and applied the next day. Ume and Otake had shared his excitement when he was accepted, and by the end of the year the restaurant kitchen was a second home.

Komatsu moved up to a line cook when he was 22. It was fast paced and hectic, and combined with long hours spent pouring his energy into his schoolwork, Komatsu tried to catch sleep whenever he could. The news the restaurant was closing struck him like a train, and in the few months before it did, Komatsu pitched recipe after recipe to the head chef, trying to salvage a new menu. Filtering out with the rest of the closing staff on the last day, Komatsu never cried harder than he did watching the neon sign flicker off for the last time.

At 23, Komatsu graduated the culinary program. He felt empty as he said goodbye to the roommates he had struggled and grown with. The IGO had a low ranking position open at a nearby four star hotel, and Komatsu put in a meager down payment on an apartment the size of a generous closet. It wasn’t much, but it was his own.

In the span of a year, at 24, he had moved from prep chef to line cook to sous chef, rented a nicer apartment, and the restaurant had gained a star. With the insurance from his job, Komatsu could finally afford top surgery. Ume held his hand when he woke up, and the entire restaurant staff had pitched in for cards and flowers. The physical pain was awful, but not being able to cook for a month was far worse. When Komatsu came back to work to a round of cheering from his coworkers, he felt whole for the first time in his life.

At 25, Komatsu inherited the title of head chef from his retired coworker. His hands shook as he hugged the woman he’d worked under and wondered how he would ever be nearly as competent. The first time he made his own menu he couldn’t sleep for a week, not until nervous peeks out of the kitchen doors into the dining hall revealed smiling faces and happy patrons, and his new sous chef teased him for being nervous in the first place.

At 25 Komatsu met Toriko. The man was giant, an odd combination of personable and blunt to the point of abrasive, and terrifyingly strong. Their first outing Komatsu was sure he was going to die, and then shared the best meal of his life, sweaty and tired by a campfire.

At 25 Komatsu had gone on more adventures than he could properly count, formed a combo with the man who had been a stranger almost a year before, and could confidently claim it as the happiest moment of his life.


End file.
